Your Spirit

For some of you, there is a spirit that resides in your imagination.
You don’t know where it came from, or its destination.
It hovers around your head, like a mosquito from some irritating source.
Then comes at you unrelentlessly, thundering like a chariot and horse.

It will not be appeased by your miserable, flailing arms.
It is only impressed by your poetic writing charms.
Ignored, unfulfilled, or stifled, it clouds your ability to think.
Nurtured, and brought out in the sun, your ego it drinks.

Unfettered and unleashed, like an eagle it can soar.
Louder, yet softer than after or before.
You drink of this spirit, and praise its existence.
And laugh at yourself for offering resistance.

At times you swear that you are its prisoner.
Lost in the demands of an arrogant master.
Cursing, and fighting, and delaying, and crying.
You admonish yourself for your life’s disaster.

At your lowest point, as you are down on your knees,
You pray that this spirit will someday be appeased.
Then comes the little mosquito of hope, out of nowhere
Buzzing round your ear, hiding in your hair.

What is this? Where did all this beauty come from?
What power imbued you with this overwhelming ability?
This incredible, intoxicating, addictive flow of words,
This poetic prowess and linguistic agility?

It is your inner spirit that commands, demands
That you answer its siren call.
Write it down, write it down, write it down now!
Before the thought is lost.

You are a poet, author, writer and the servant of your spirit.
For it is your inner spirit that defines who you are.